Diamond and Pearl
by InSilva
Summary: Basher summons some help for one good friend from two others. Rated for profanity. Complete.
1. Chapter 1 Clear As

Diamond and Pearl by InSilva

Summary: Basher summons some help for one good friend from two others. Rated for profanity.

Disclaimer: just borrowed Danny, Rusty and Basher. It's a great library, isn't it!

Chapter One: Clear As

* * *

"So, how do you address a lady anyway?" Danny asked as they stood in front of the huge doors to the stately home.

They'd landed last night at Heathrow in what had seemed a monsoon but today, the June sun was bright and strong and Rusty looked over the top of his sunglasses at him. "Don't you know any?"

"You know, is it ma'am or…"

"Your excellency?" Rusty suggested innocently. "Your majesty?"

Danny ignored him. "I mean is it your ladyship? Your lady? My lady…?"

The doors remained resolutely shut.

"Maybe I should-"

"Maybe you should."

Rusty rang the doorbell again. They could hear it echoing long and loud in the hall within. Finally, footsteps approached.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rusty could see Danny still fidgeting.

"What?"

"Do you think we should have worn ties?"

The door swung open to reveal a butler, silver-haired and elegant.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" Impeccable English. Intimidating as hell. As one, Rusty and Danny pulled their sunglasses off.

"Basher-"

"That is, Mr Tarr," Danny interrupted, "has asked us to meet him here. We're Mr Ryan and Mr Ocean."

The butler looked them over and Rusty caught Danny standing a little straighter. He hid a smile: he was going to have so much fun with this later.

"Do come in, sirs. Her ladyship and Mr Tarr are currently engaged in inspecting the gardens but I believe they have requested that you await their return in the main drawing room. Please follow me."

Rusty had been concentrating on the sentence, almost hypnotised by the starched accent. He threw a glance at Danny.

_Do people really speak like this? I thought it was just in movies._

As they followed the butler down a long stone corridor, they could not help but take in the antiques on display. Silverware and porcelain decorated cabinets, rich tapestries hung off the walls and every so often there was a marble bust of someone probably famous and almost certainly long dead.

"You have some nice things here," Danny said, being polite but meaning it.

The butler did not turn round but over his shoulder, they heard:

"Thank you, sir. The collection was founded by the seventh Marquess who brought back several fine pieces from his Grand Tour."

"Grand Tour?" Rusty queried.

"His Grand Tour of Europe," the butler elaborated with a hint of exasperation that would be barely perceptible except to two such excellent readers of tone. "He visited various countries and then returned with artefacts from the places he had explored."

_Rather like us, then._

_Yeah. _

They arrived at a large room with French doors out to a terrace, a sumptuous, burgundy carpet, mahogany furniture and portraits of eighteenth-century English nobility.

"If you care to wait here, gentlemen, her ladyship and Mr Tarr will be with you shortly." He exited, closing the door behind him.

Rusty and Danny looked around with semi-professional curiosity. Rusty let out a low whistle.

"Exactly," Danny agreed.

Raised voices were coming from the terrace outside and the glass doors were flung open.

"Sal, Sal," they heard Basher saying, "just slow down, won't you?"

A five foot two bundle of fury stormed into the drawing room closely followed by Basher. Both were covered in what Rusty hoped was mud, although you never knew with Basher.

"You are the living end, Basher Tarr!" the woman declared loudly in a voice that sounded as if she had been brought up not two doors away from Basher himself. She rounded on him. "If you dare tread dirt into the Wilton, I will have your hide. Stand there and strip off."

Basher rooted himself to the spot by the door as she jerked her head in Rusty and Danny's direction by way of acknowledgement and then yanked on a bell pull. The butler arrived at once.

"Hot soap and water, Simmons, please, and a towel. And bring Mr Tarr a change of clothes."

"Very good, my lady," Simmons answered and Rusty and Danny looked harder at the woman. This was…

"Rusty, Danny," Basher gave them a grin of welcome, "this is my very good friend, Sal Swan. Also known as Lady Chumley."

"I thought it was Cholmondley." Danny pronounced it with three separate syllables. He was sure that was the way Basher had spelt it in the text message.

Sal rolled her eyes.

"You say it 'Chumley'," Basher corrected hurriedly.

_Why don't they spell it that way, then?_

Rusty had no answer to that one.

Basher carried on with the introductions. "Sal, this is Rusty Ryan and Danny Ocean, two of the best."

Sal gave them a nod. "Would shake your hand, gentlemen, but this prawn," and Rusty doubted she could have injected more caustic acid into the word, "managed to drown us in mud."

"It was an accident-"

"Yeah, 'cos no one would deliberately lay that charge up without checking ground moisture first. It's not like it's rained recently or anything."

Simmons reappeared. Sal plunged her hands into the bowl of soapy water and splashed it round her face, rubbing herself dry on the accompanying white fluffy towel. It didn't make her face mud-free but it at least let Danny and Rusty see her features more clearly: sharp, blue eyes and a firm mouth and jaw, wisps of red hair escaping from the makeshift ponytail.

Basher made a move towards the bowl but Sal pinned him in place with a look. "I told you to strip."

"Aw, Sal…" There was a silent battle and then he sighed and pulled his shoes and socks off and his shirt over his head.

"And the jeans."

He dropped them and kicked them off then stood glaring at her, clad in a pair of purple silk boxers. Rusty and Danny were trying very, very hard not to look at each other.

"Scowl at me all you like," Sal said in a voice that suggested she didn't much care and motioned Simmons forward.

The butler handed over a short-sleeved T and jeans and collected the offending items of clothing which he held at arms' length as he left the room. Basher pulled the clean clothes on and sulked his way across to the bowl of water.

"Honestly, Sal, I could have been going commando or anything," he muttered, cleaning his face and hands and trying to find a part of the towel which was still clean.

Sal ignored him and turned to face Danny and Rusty. She stared at their faces for a long time and then seemed to make her mind up. Reaching over, she shook their hands. Her grip was strong for a woman and caught them both unawares.

"Alright, chaps. Have a seat. Here's how it is."

They sat on a low sofa and watched Sal pace up and down in front of them. Basher leaned up against the wall and watched her too.

"My husband, Norman, is salt of the earth and generous to a fault. He is also totally crap at reading people. Last month, he bumped in to a man at his club called Anthony Warrender. Owns a company that plays the stock markets. Invited Norman to invest a few plums."

Rusty and Danny's eyes travelled to Basher.

"Few hundred thou'," he translated.

"Thou', right," Sal agreed, frowning at the interruption. "Only Mr Warrender has burrowed his way through that money and out the other side without Norman seeing a penny by way of return."

"He could just be unlucky," suggested Danny. "I mean stocks are notoriously difficult-"

"He could be unlucky," Sal agreed, "or he could be a thieving sack of shit who didn't bother investing the money in the first place and who thinks a couple of dinners at the Dorchester to update Norman on its progress will get him off the hook."

She glared at the pair of them.

"I went to the Dorchester with Norman and I can tell you right here and now Anthony Warrender took him for a ride. Now I'm very fond of my husband. I don't like to see anything happen to him and I especially don't like to see anyone take advantage. This piece of shit not only took him for a jolly jaunt as far as his money went, he also tried it on with me when Norman's back was turned."

"Really," Rusty said and then, aware that his tone had been edging towards ungallant rather than horrified, tried to redress the balance with "I mean that's just not on."

Sal fixed him with a look that said she had heard him the first time. "Really," she nodded. "And no, it isn't."

"What Sal wants to do-"

"What Sal wants to do is explain it herself, Basher."

"Sorry."

"I want to hit this bastard twice. I want to stitch him up personally and professionally. Basher's taking charge of the latter part of that and providing the office safe isn't buried in a field, he'll probably do a good job."

Basher rolled his eyes.

"I asked him to find a couple of people who could help with the other part. Guess that's you two."

"I guess," Danny said.

She looked them over again. "OK, Basher says you're good and I trust him but I want to see you in action before we go on because it's going to be pointless explaining further if you turn out to be a pair of incompetent tossers. Simmons?"

Danny looked startled. Simmons had ghosted into the room without either him or, judging by the raised eyebrow, Rusty noticing.

"My lady."

"It's four o'clock near enough. Set up some high tea on the terrace."

"Very good, my lady."

"I'm going upstairs to get cleaned up. Start tea without me, gentlemen. I'll be down in a while."

She swept out of the room and left the three men looking at each other.

"Well, she's-" Rusty began.

"She is." Danny agreed fervently.

"Oh, yeah." Basher nodded.

Danny looked closely at Rusty who had started beaming. _What are you so happy about? _

Then he answered his own question. "Food."


	2. Chapter 2 Getting to Know You

Diamond and Pearl by InSilva

Disclaimer: I've still got Rusty, Danny and Basher out on loan. They're not due back just yet.

Chapter Two: Getting to Know You

* * *

A little while later, the three of them were sat on the terrace overlooking the neat Elizabethan knot garden and the parkland beyond.

Simmons had served them all with tea in bone china cups and Danny had not been brave enough to ask for coffee. Rusty had munched his way through a pile of dainty cucumber sandwiches that had been cut into triangles and was currently busy with a pot of clotted cream, a jar of strawberry jam and a scone. Danny watched his progress; apparently assembling the scone was trickier than it looked. He had no doubt, however, that Rusty would master it.

"So," he began, looking around and checking that they were alone and no super-silent butlers were lurking. "Tell us more about Sal."

Basher drank some tea and waved an expansive hand. "Grew up on the street behind her's. We've known each other since we were about six. She got into the business shortly after I did."

"Munitions?" It didn't seem likely to Danny but really, you could never tell.

Basher looked amused at the prospect of Sal handling anything more explosive than herself. "Short con stuff, mostly. She's got good fingers and she can be very persuasive. Occasionally, she'd go deep. S'where she met Norman."

"She conned him?"

"No, she met him while she was on a con," Basher corrected Rusty. "She didn't know he was a toff and owned this pile. Love at first sight on both sides. Then she found out he was filthy rich," he sighed. "That sort of stuff never happens to me."

"Or me."

Rusty looked thoughtful. _How much money did you have when we met?_

_I'm not even dignifying that with an answer._

The French doors opened and a woman in a smart designer suit and black patent stilettos stepped through them. Her auburn hair was swept up in a French pleat, her nails were immaculate and her make-up, flawless. She swayed across to them and Danny thought about that gentle ocean hugging the shore.

As one, the three men stood up.

"Please be seated, gentlemen." Her voice was honeyed and her accent, faultless.

They sat down again. Basher glanced over at a mesmerised Danny and Rusty and shook his head, grinning. The woman pursed her lips.

"Is there a reason your jaws are around your ankles?" she asked, again with cut-glass vowels.

Realisation dawned on Danny and Rusty at the same time.

"'Course it's bleedin' me," Sal said scornfully in her own voice. She shook her head. "Who the hell did you think it was?"

"Oh, come on, Sal, be fair," Basher said placatingly. "No one does an Eliza like you. And there was an awful lot of mud."

"Mmph. And let's not forget whose fault that was." She looked at the three of them. "OK, gentlemen. You fed and watered? Very well. Follow me."

She led them back inside through a different set of doors. They walked through a room where the ceiling and every wall was covered in one enormous fresco of Greek gods and goddesses. Then Sal opened the door on the games room which housed a card table with four seats and a new pack of cards in the middle.

"Sit," Sal instructed, taking one of the chairs herself.

They sat.

"Now then, which of the two of you is the better dealer?"

Rusty and Danny looked at each other.

_Well…_

…_well._

"Guess that'd be me," Rusty said.

"Alright, golden boy," Sal tossed him the pack of cards. "Cold deck. Show me what you're made of."

Rusty had not had to prove himself since who knew when. Lips twitching, he pulled the cards from the packaging and began.

Even now, Danny found pleasure in watching Rusty's elegance in action. On the surface, it was ease and fluidity. If you were _watching_ him, though, if you knew the graceful disguise he operated with and knew what you were looking for, you saw how his hands moved precisely with not one spare motion, cutting and recutting, stacking and restacking the pack till he knew the exact location of every card. There was something life-enhancing, Danny felt, watching him at work.

After a while Rusty stopped and looked up.

"So," Sal said. She pointed at the space in front of Basher, Danny and herself. "Full house, nines over threes, four sevens, royal flush."

He dealt the hands without hesitation. Sal nodded approvingly.

"Good. Nice and tight." She sat back and studied him as if suddenly seeing him for the first time and then her face lit up with genuine delight. "You'll do nicely."

Rusty grinned back and his eyes flicked to Danny. _She's alright, herself._

_Yeah. I think she probably is._

"What's the set-up?" Danny asked.

"This is Royal Ascot week," Sal said. "Tomorrow is the Gold Cup. Ladies' Day. Usually Norman would take me but he's been conveniently called away to Canada. I'm going with you two instead. I want you to be two thick Yanks with more money than sense."

Danny looked at Rusty. _OK…_

Rusty was thinking about something else. "Royal Ascot – horses, right?"

"Don't worry, Rus," Basher said reassuringly. "We're not pulling a National Velvet."

"Warrender'll be there. Just as he'll turn up to Henley and Wimbledon and Glyndebourne and any other part of the season. He's a first-rate, arse-licking, little social-climber and he doesn't want to miss out."

"We're going to bump into him," Rusty guessed.

"We are. And you two are going to spend some considerable time in his company. For which I'll apologise now. Though as he won't be trying to look down your cleavage or up your skirt, you probably won't mind so much."

"Do we need him to win or lose at the races?" Danny asked.

Sal grinned. So did Basher.

"Either will do," she said.

* * *

They had listened to Sal outline the plan and they had to admit it seemed solid. Danny and Rusty had exchanged a glance which said that neither of them wanted to get on the wrong side of Sal.

"Long as you can rope him in at the races, we'll be on," Sal said.

Danny smiled confidently. "We can do that."

Basher nodded. "They can do that."

"Now, seed money. How much do you reckon you need?"

"Few plums?" Rusty suggested guilelessly.

To their surprise, Sal nodded. "That's what I thought. I'll bring the money with me when I pick you up."

_Pick us up? _Rusty's eyebrows shot up.

"Where will we be?" Danny wondered aloud.

"The Crown in town. Basher stayed over last night but he's booking in as well to keep you company," Sal said briskly. She looked askance at them. "They're a bit packed at the moment. I could only get two rooms but Basher said you two'd be happy sharing."

Basher found an interesting spot on the ceiling to study.

"Oh, yeah. That'll be fine." Rusty agreed immediately.

Danny shot him a look. _Stop playing with people like that._

_But it's so much fun._

"That's alright, then," Sal nodded, looking as if she badly wanted to add supplementary questions. She opened her mouth and then caught sight of Basher's sudden unblinking stare and closed it again.

Rusty and Danny noted the exchange with interest. It seemed as though they weren't the only ones who didn't always need words.

* * *

The Crown was a traditional English hotel: ivy-covered front, oak beams, wood panelling. The girl on reception did not bat an eyelid as Danny and Rusty booked in.

"Twin or double, sirs?" she asked, her face completely straight.

"Twin, thank you," Danny said quickly before Rusty could outrage any sensibilities.

"Would you like a room adjoining, sir?" she asked Basher.

"Thanks," he said, teeth gleaming.

Danny and Rusty's room overlooked the courtyard. It was tastefully decorated in peach and cream and it would have looked at home in a "House and Garden" shoot.

Rusty flopped down on the bed nearest the window. It was soft and body-hugging and he did not feel in a hurry to get up again. Danny looked around the bathroom. Tiny but functional. The space had been given to the bedroom.

There was a knock on the door and then it opened and Basher appeared.

"Alright? Nicked the loo rolls yet?"

Danny smiled. "You want to go and grab some food?"

"Sure."

It was enough to get Rusty off the bed and down the stairs and into the restaurant with them.

* * *

They sat and studied the menu. It was written in English but was for the most part completely incomprehensible to Rusty and Danny.

"Toad in the hole?" asked Danny.

"Not what you think," Basher said.

"Spotted dick?" Rusty queried.

"Not what it sounds like."

_Thank God._

"Order for us, Bash," Danny said, giving up and closing the menu.

"Three lots of bangers and mash followed by jam roly-poly," Basher said happily to the waitress.

_Bangers…?_

Danny shrugged. _Seems appropriate._


	3. Chapter 3 Getting Ready

Diamond and Pearl by InSilva

Disclaimer: still got them booked out. May have to renew the loan.

Chapter Three: Getting Ready

* * *

They had adjourned to the bar and after an abortive round of beers – "Basher, these are _warm_…" "It's supposed to be like that." "But, Basher, they're _warm_…" – Danny and Rusty were nursing whiskies while Basher did his best for the campaign for real ale.

"Does Norman know about Sal?" Danny asked.

Basher considered. "Truly, I'd say he hasn't got a Scooby. Not about what she really does. I think he thinks she was an actress. Which…not too far from the truth."

"So…" Rusty began.

"…you and she…" Danny continued, knowing where Rusty was headed.

Basher did too. He looked aghast.

"Leave it out! It'd be like doing my sister. Anyway, she's married."

"Sorry, Basher."

"Sorry, Bash."

They both looked a little shame-faced.

"Mind you, when she does that ladyship bit…" Basher's eyes acquired a faraway look. "I always fancied Lady Penelope."

Danny knew that he and Rusty had already had this conversation, many years and several drinks ago. He wondered briefly whether Rusty had forgotten and then knew that that was as unlikely as the sun not coming up in the morning. He shot him a glance.

_You mention it and-_

"Danny had quite a thing for Daphne."

_Right._

"We're not even going to go in to what Rusty will do for a Scooby snack."

Basher didn't seem to have heard.

"Sal's brilliant," Basher sighed. "She's never, ever been colour-blind. I mean I know you guys aren't but..." he broke off and looked down at his beer. Then he looked up and, with a burst of deep sincerity, said, "She's always been there for me and I know she has her faults but I've never found them yet."

Danny raised his glass and so did Rusty.

"To Sal."

"To Sal," Basher nodded vigorously. "Best woman I know."

* * *

They retired at a reasonable hour, Basher hiding a grin as Rusty ordered breakfast in bed from reception on the way up the stairs.

"Ask them to knock, though," Rusty said with a straight face.

"Of course, sir," the receptionist replied, her expression inscrutable.

"I cannot take you anywhere," Danny scolded Rusty.

"Don't worry," Basher consoled. "They won't take any notice." He paused then said, "They will gossip though."

* * *

They said their goodnights and Danny and Rusty entered their room to find that their beds had been turned down and a chocolate left on each of their pillows. Wordlessly, Danny handed his over and Rusty nodded his thanks.

"What do you reckon?" Danny asked.

"I kind of like her."

"I do too. Wouldn't want to be Anthony Warrender."

"Sounds like it serves him right."

"Wonder how deep she and Basher go?" Danny mused.

Rusty smiled. "You got to know she's wondering the same about us."

* * *

Basher lay in bed that night and thought about Sal. He thought it was fair to say he never took her for granted. She had been there for everything. They'd even been each other's first kiss. Both times. Seven, chaste and innocent and then, eleven, curious and experimental. He could remember Sal pulling away that time and saying, "Oh, that can't be right. You want to try again?". It hadn't seemed any more right the second time and they'd just decided to draw a line under that experience.

And like he said, she'd never, ever been remotely bothered about what colour his skin was. Sal had gone wading in on more than one occasion when someone had smart-mouthed off at him. Once, after a wearisome morning spent on road safety and cycling proficiency, he'd had to restrain her from emptying her school dinner over the head of a girl who'd whispered loudly to her mates, as they'd walked past her table, that all Eugene Tarr needed to do to be seen in the dark was open his eyes and smile with his mouth open.

"It's alright," he'd assured her.

"It's bloody not," she'd snapped. "It's a sodding insult and they're not worth spit compared to you."

He liked to think he'd been there for her, too. When Gary Fletcher had broken her heart when she was eight and he'd brought her biscuits and his best marble. And some years later, when Innocent Johnson had slept with her and dumped her the next day.

"Serves me right," she'd sobbed, fiercely angry and completely devastated. "I knew he only wanted a shag."

Basher had looked her in the eyes. "He's a bloody twat, Sal. And I'm going to break his face."

He had done. And he'd taken pleasure doing it. Sal was one of the precious things in his life and he wasn't going to see her hurting. And nothing had changed. He'd come for her whenever she called.

* * *

"So…"

"So."

It was the next morning and it was early. Room service had already delivered breakfast. They'd eaten the full English though neither of them had wanted to go anywhere near the black pudding.

"That just looks so wrong," Rusty said and Danny had nodded agreement.

There'd been another knock at the door and Rusty had taken charge of the delivery. Now, they were standing looking at two morning suits. Complete with hats and gloves. There was a note from Sal.

_You have to wear these to get into the Royal Enclosure. So don't even think about ditching them and don't make me have to come up and kick your arses. I'll pick you up at ten._

"So…"

"So."

"How do you think she knew our sizes?"

Danny shrugged. "Guess Basher's a good judge."

"And how do you think she knew to order them and have them waiting?"

"Guess she thinks Basher's a good judge, too."

They looked at each other and then picked up the outfits and started getting ready.

* * *

Danny was struggling with his cravat. Damn thing kept not sitting straight. Rusty appeared out of the bathroom.

"I'll do that. Chin up."

Danny obeyed. Rusty's fingers worked as smoothly and as cleverly as ever. Cravat tied, Danny cast his eyes over Rusty in his morning dress. He looked…hmm. Danny was going to have to think carefully about that adjective. He settled for, "You scrub up well."

Rusty's gaze ran over Danny. Danny never looked bad in formal attire.

"Likewise," he said, eyes bright.

* * *

Hats and gloves in hand, they walked downstairs a couple of minutes before ten. They were confronted by a hat. It was wearing Sal.

Basher appeared at her side, grinning. "Told her already she'd better be careful. Wind gets up she'll get blown all the way to the Smoke."

Sal narrowed her eyes. "You two want to say anything?"

"No," Danny said quickly.

Rusty shook his head.

"Good. Car's outside. Let's move." She turned to Basher. "We'll meet you back here at six-thirty. And then we can discuss how bloody unfunny you are."

* * *

The car was a silver Rolls Royce and a liveried chauffeur stood smartly to attention, holding the back door open.

"You first," Sal indicated and Rusty climbed in, Sal following then Danny.

The back seat was surprisingly roomy. The air above it was less so and after half a mile, Sal sighed and took the hat off, balancing it on her knee. And Danny's. And Rusty's.

"Suppose I should thank you," she said. "You don't know me from Adam. Or Eve."

"We know Basher," Rusty pointed out.

"And we trust him," Danny added.

"Yeah," Sal said, giving both of them a grin, "I do too." She pursed her lips. "So what are we calling ourselves? Frank and Dean? Tom and Jerry?"

Danny and Rusty looked at each other and ran through a few identities in their heads.

"Noah Morgan," Danny introduced himself.

"Sam Kennedy," Rusty said then added, "the third."

"Pleased to meet you. Here's your cash."

Pushing the hat on to Danny's lap, she reached under the seat and pulled out a briefcase. She clicked it open and revealed neat little bundles of money. It was a sight that never failed to entrance and delight Danny and Rusty.

"Help yourself," invited Sal.

_Think we may have died and gone to heaven._

_Yeah, pinch me. Hard._


	4. Chapter 4 Setting Out

Diamond and Pearl by InSilva

Disclaimer: "Dear InSilva, It has come to our attention that you are still in possession of Rusty, Danny and Basher. Please note that you will shortly be incurring late fees. Signed The Library." "Dear Library, the fees will be worth it. InSilva."

Chapter Four: Setting Out

* * *

"Now it's perfectly straightforward. I believe it to be idiot-proof but of course you may care to prove me wrong."

Basher sat in the bar at the Crown and turned the disk over in his hands. It seemed innocuous enough.

"Just…"

Roman's irascibility overflowed.

"Just turn on the computer, insert this into the drive and let it run. When it's finished, eject the disk. Do you really want me to go into the technicalities? Or do you just want to trust me?"

"I'll trust you."

"And when would you like to pay me?"

Basher handed over an envelope. Roman looked taken aback and delighted at the same time.

"A pleasure doing business with you, Mr Tarr. I trust the target is suitably deserving?"

"You bet," Basher grinned.

* * *

Ascot was colour and life and hats. Many, many hats, each more impossible than the last.

"See," Sal muttered, "mine's positively reserved."

Sal glided through the Royal Enclosure gates as regally as if she were the queen herself. Danny and Rusty followed in her wake, still carrying their hats and gloves.

"I don't care what she says," Rusty muttered. "I'm not wearing the hat."

_You'd do it if she told you._

Rusty fought to deny it.

_You'd do it if she told you._

"Yeah…" Rusty admitted.

Sal was moving through the crowd ahead of them and they watched her at work. She was all eyes and teeth, smiling and charming her way through friends and acquaintances with airkisses and introductions, Queen's English firmly in place. She effortlessly engineered a meeting with Anthony Warrender.

"Darling! What a surprise!"

"Lady Cholmondley!" Warrender pronounced it properly and with a purr. His eyes looked her over with interest. "How fabulous to see you again. Is your husband here?"

Sal showed her teeth in a neat little smile that got nowhere near her eyes. "Sadly, no. He's been called abroad. I'm here with a couple of Americans, actually. Norman and I met them on the Côte d'Azur last month. They were going to be over here for June and we simply had to insist they join us at Ascot and well, I didn't think it would be right to let them down."

Warrender's eyes flicked over to Danny and Rusty and they could read his unspoken question loud and clear. So could Sal.

"They're over in Europe doing some sort of deal," she clarified. "Merger. Acquisition. Something like that," she waved a dismissive hand that said "I'm only a woman and I don't really understand".

Anthony Warrender was about their height, sandy hair, chinless with restless eyes. Danny and Rusty had him sized up before the first handshake which was as wet as they come.

_Greedy…_

_…weak…_

_…status-lover._

"Noah Morgan, pleased to meet you," Danny said, "and this is my business partner, Sam Kennedy."

"The third," Rusty added.

"Anthony Warrender. Call me Tony."

All three of them did well with the bookmaker; Sal clapping wildly at their joint success. By lunchtime, Danny had let slip his connections with the White House. By tea, Rusty had mentioned the oil fields in his family. By the end of the day, Anthony had insisted Danny and Rusty join him at his club that evening. They accepted with pleasure.

As they got ready to leave, Danny lifted Warrender's keys and palmed them to Sal. She passed them back minus those to his office. Danny replaced them. It took a little over two minutes and it was seamless.

* * *

Back at the Crown, Danny, Rusty and Sal were greeted by Basher.

"How'd it go?"

"Sweet as a nut," Sal said. "We're on."

She had left the hat in the Daimler and was carrying an overnight bag.

"Need to change," she said unnecessarily. "Your room. Now."

Basher nodded.

Amused, Danny looked at Rusty. _Our room?_

_Now._

* * *

Basher stood in the corner of the room trying hard not to look anywhere he shouldn't as Sal pulled her dress over her head and threw it on the bed.

"Jeez, Sal," he muttered. "You could wait till I turned my back."

"Don't be bloody daft," she said pulling on dark leggings and a thin jumper.

"How did they do?"

"They were smooth," Sal said with a grin. "Very slick. They work bloody well together, don't they?"

"Yeah," Basher nodded. "Like whisky and ginger."

"Speaking of ginger…"

"Sal…" Basher warned.

"Well, are they?"

Basher sighed. "You know, Sal, right up there with Shergar's whereabouts. Something you think about, something you wonder about, something you might even guess you know the answer to but something you never, ever say aloud."

"Shergar is dogmeat."

"Sal!"

"Well…" Sal rolled her eyes. "They got that vibe."

"Oh, the vibe," Basher nodded. "That, they got."

"Come on. Let's go and find them," Sal said. She gave Basher a fiendish smile. "Do we have to knock?"

* * *

"You decent?" Basher's voice came through the door.

Rusty opened it.

"Not when I last checked," he grinned, letting Basher and Sal in.

He and Danny had changed. Sal looked them over.

"Ties," she said. "You both need ties. Although," she looked at Rusty, wincing, "you need another shirt. That one is lairy."

Rusty looked deeply offended. Danny did not look surprised.

"It's not a bleedin' party," Sal snapped. "This is the Parthenon. They won't let you through the door unless you look the part."

She shook her head. "Well, I guess we can't help the shirt." There was a hopeful note in the last phrase and Danny and Rusty shook their head in unison.

"Wait here," she sighed and disappeared.

She came back clutching the overnight bag.

"Thought this might happen. Brought a load of Norman's over." She looked again at Rusty's shirt. "Though if we find something to go with that it'll be a bloody miracle."

* * *

The four of them headed towards the car park, Rusty having reluctantly been coerced into a black silk tie.

"Keys, Basher," Sal said holding out her hand.

"What makes you think you're driving?"

Sal looked at him. "Years of experience."

Basher sighed and dug them out of his pocket. Sal took them from him and marched on ahead to the driver's door.

"There's just no point in arguing with her," Basher muttered to Danny and Rusty.

"Glad you've finally realised," came the answer over Sal's shoulder.

* * *

Basher winced as Sal threw the Audi round the corner and on to the North Circular.

"We'll drop you off at a taxi rank round the corner from the club," Sal said. "You need to arrive in style. We'll meet up back at the Crown. Move your bleedin' arse!"

The last was directed at a Saab that was slow off the lights.

"So this club-" Rusty began from the back seat.

"The Parthenon."

"The Parthenon. Tell us some more about it."

Sal shrugged. "It's Norman's club. Always has been."

"What's it like inside?" Danny asked.

"Wouldn't know," Sal scowled. "They don't let women in."

"Why not?" Danny frowned.

"Sodding arcane rules. No woman allowed over the threshold."

"Wow," Rusty said with sympathy. "That's harsh."

Danny shot him a look of warning.

"Yes, it is," Sal nodded. "It's discrimination."

"Yeah…" Rusty gave it a moment. "So does Norman come up to the club often?"

Basher and Danny exchanged glances.

"Oh, a couple of times a week," Sal said blithely. "And if he's up in town on business. Or if he's going to meet someone. Hey!"

She shot Rusty a filthy look.

Danny shook his head at him. _Don't antagonise the redhead at the wheel._

Rusty's smile widened. He felt he had avenged his shirt.


	5. Chapter 5 Hitting the Mark

Diamond and Pearl by InSilva

Disclaimer: alright, alright, Library, you can have them back after this chapter. Just don't send any shadows after me.

A/N: a long, final chapter but I couldn't really split it. Hope you've enjoyed "Danny and Rusty do Britain" or "That Ain't No Lady, that's Sal" or "Basher Does What He's Told". So many alternative titles...

Chapter Five: Hitting the Mark

* * *

The Parthenon had an impressive town house front with a doorman. Rusty and Danny walked up the steps and in through the door which was held open for them.

The foyer of the club had two enormous oil paintings facing each other. One showed a stern aristocrat with hunting dogs around his feet. The other was of a well-built young man wearing ermine robes and looking into the far distance.

"Our founder, Lord Sinclair, and our first patron, Prince Albert Victor of Wales, " the uniformed man at the desk explained without being asked. "May I help you gentlemen?"

"We're here at Mr Anthony Warrender's invitation," Danny said. "Noah Morgan and Sam Kennedy."

"The third," Rusty added.

_You're just not tired of that yet, are you?_

"Of course, sirs," the man said with deference. "Mr Warrender is through in the members' lounge and asks that you sign in and then go to join him."

He pushed a thick, leatherbound register in Danny's direction together with a fountain pen. Danny signed his alias with a flourish and passed the pen to Rusty to do the same.

* * *

Basher and Sal had hit the City. Sal parked the car in a side street and the two of them headed towards the office building that housed Warrender Associates, pulling gloves on as they went.

"So, golden boy and Mr My-Hands-Ain't-Shovelled-Shit-in-My-Life Debonair. How'd you meet them?"

"Went over to the States on a recommendation. Stayed on and hooked up with them. They're just top blokes. Great planning, great ideas and, well, you've see how they are with each other."

He ignored the look that had appeared on Sal's face. "Not that. Well, maybe partly that. I just mean they look after each other, they cover for each other…and that's how it is when you work with them. You end up running alongside them and this whole bloody brilliant joke they're sharing with you. It's a buzz and no mistake."

"Here," Sal said, pulling him into a doorway. "Warrender's offices are on the third floor.

Basher looked at the wiring which slid around the lintel. "Easy enough," he concluded and set to work.

* * *

Anthony "Call me Tony" Warrender had taken them to dinner. He was full of largesse, insisting on double whiskies, ordering lobster to follow the foie gras and generally intent on ostentation. Danny and Rusty sat in the club restaurant and listened to his stories, making the right noises, letting Warrender run away at the mouth.

"That Lady Cholmondley's a bit easy on the eye," Warrender suddenly leered and Rusty's charming smile froze in place. Danny's eyes grew harder. Oblivious, Warrender ploughed on. "Feisty little thing. Imagine getting in the saddle with - hey!"

Rusty had knocked the bottle of expensive Chablis across the table and into Warrender's lap.

"I am so sorry, Tony," Rusty looked suitably horrified. "I am so, so sorry."

"That's OK, Sam," Warrender mopped his lap with a napkin. "It was an accident. If you'll excuse me."

He headed away to clean himself up. Danny looked over at Rusty.

_Not sensible._

_I know._

_But justified._

_Oh, yes._

* * *

The alarm system had been simple enough. Basher and Sal headed up the back staircases to the third floor and Sal used Warrender's key to let them in. She moved straight to Warrender's office.

"Give me the disk, I'll fire up the computer," Sal said. "You get started on the safe." She pointed. "Behind the picture of the fat, naked woman."

Basher handed the disk over and squinted at the painting as he pulled it off the wall. "Is this famous?"

"Rubens. Print," Sal shrugged, unimpressed. "It's still a fat, naked woman."

She sat in front of the computer and started it, then loaded the disk. The screen flared up and a stream of numbers flashed upwards at an alarming rate.

Basher opened up his bag of tricks, picked up the smooth putty and the thin wire and started to apply them to the safe.

"How do you reckon they're doing?" Sal wondered aloud.

"By now, they'll be setting up read 'em and weep time."

* * *

At the Parthenon, they had moved in to the games room.

"Little action in here, usually," Warrender confided. "Can get quite exciting."

Rusty and Danny scanned the room. A chess game was in progress and a hand of bridge was being played.

_Lively._

_Thrilling._

"Don't suppose you gentlemen ever indulge in a hand or two of cards?"

Rusty let his smile reach his eyes. "Are you suggesting a game of poker?"

* * *

The computer was busy whirring.

"How's it going?" Basher asked, moving round to Sal's side of the desk.

"Sod knows," Sal replied. "Let's hope your mate, Roman, knows his stuff."

"This is ready to go."

"Knicker-holding time?"

"You bet." Basher triggered the delicate charge which blew a neat little hole around the edge of the safe and left the door swinging open.

"Nicely done," Sal said as she stepped forward and reached in to pick up the papers, the money and a cash book.

"Second set of accounts. Twit," she muttered, flicking through it. "Mind you, good job for us he is so bloody dim."

The screen on the computer went white and then black.

"Is it supposed to do that?" Basher asked.

"You're asking me?"

Basher reached down and gingerly ejected the disk. "Guess it's done."

"Guess we're out of here." Sal put Warrender's office key considerately on his desk. "I'll leave this here for him."

* * *

Rusty dealt the cards to a table full of regulars plus Warrender and Danny. The stakes were gradually increasing and most people were losing but Anthony Warrender was lucky. Outrageously so. The regulars around the table looked at each other.

Danny and Rusty were also losing but doing enough to stay in. One by one, having lost modest amounts, the regulars dropped out but they did not leave. A crowd started to gather to watch the inexplicable lucky streak.

"Full house!" Warrender could not believe it. It was without doubt the best night of his life and he beamed cluelessly round the room.

An older man, stiff as a ramrod with a full grey moustache, made his way to the front of the onlookers.

"You're doing exceptionally well, Warrender," he said.

"I am, Colonel Price! Lucky day at the races and it's just going on and on."

Colonel Price looked at Rusty and Danny. "These your guests?"

"Noah Morgan," Danny reached out his hand to shake Colonel Price's.

"Sam Kennedy the third," Rusty did the same.

"Delighted to meet you, gentlemen. Are you friends of young Warrender?"

"Met him today," Danny said.

"Sort of a friend of a friend."

"Thought I'd bring them down to the Parthenon, Colonel. Show them what the best club in town's like."

Colonel Price's mouth tightened and Danny and Rusty could both see how badly Warrender was reading the colonel's acceptance of him.

_Old school._

_Hates new money._

_Interesting._

The hands continued to be dealt and the stakes continued to grow. Betting started now at five thousand. Now only Warrender, Danny and Rusty were playing and the pot on the table was enormous.

Danny knocked his empty glass to the floor and apologising, picked it up, brushing against Warrender's jacket for a long moment as he did so. He straightened up and gave Rusty a lazy smile.

Rusty dealt. The cards fell. Warrender sat, holding the best hand he'd ever had. The pot grew even bigger, now in the hundred thousands. Nearly all the seed money they had was on the table together with their winnings from Ascot, the money taken from the regulars that evening and pretty much all of what Warrender was carrying.

Danny called. Warrender lay down his cards triumphantly and Danny's face actually blanched. Rusty thought he'd have to congratulate him on that later.

"Well done, Tony," Danny said heavily, above the murmurs of those watching.

"Unbelievable," Rusty shook his head.

"I've won!" Warrender cried in complete disbelief and joy. He jumped up to grab the pot and two cards fell on to the table. Two aces.

There was a significant silence. Warrender's fingers stopped on the way to the money.

"What?" He stared at the cards on the green baize. "They don't belong to me."

Colonel Price turned purple. "Rapscallion! You jumped-up, little pup! Unruly scoundrel!"

"But I didn't…I haven't…"

The colonel's hand fell on Warrender's shoulder. "You, sir, can consider yourself barred. And you won't find a place at any other club in London. I shall make sure of that."

"But I didn't…I didn't…" Warrender's face was clouded in confusion.

"Leave now, sir. Before I seek to have you ejected."

Warrender looked for a moment as if he was going to defy the colonel but the weight of stares around the table crushed any spirit of defiance. White-faced, still trying to work out what had just happened, he slid back in his chair.

"Sam…Noah…" he pleaded. "I don't know where those cards came from, honestly…"

"Oh," Danny said, his voice ripe with righteous indignation, "I think Sam and I know exactly where they came from. Just like we know the truth about your run of good luck!"

_Nice._

_Thank you._

"Tony," Rusty said sorrowfully. "And we were getting on so well."

Warrender looked from one to the other of them, his mouth opening and closing but no words emerging.

Colonel Price leant over the table. "Gentlemen, my apologies for the ill-treatment you have suffered at the Parthenon. I will not have visitors be dealt with so disgracefully. Not while I am Club President." He divided the money into two roughly equal piles and handed it over. Danny and Rusty accepted it graciously together with the colonel's ongoing apologies and left as Warrender's pleas grew ever more vocal.

"Taxi!" Danny signalled once they were outside and they climbed in the back of the black cab.

"That felt-"

"-satisfying," Danny finished.

"Yeah. And it started out as not really our battle."

* * *

Sal and Basher made their way back to the car and fell inside, grinning at each other.

"Ah, s'triffic, Sal."

"Yeah. We should work together more often."

Basher looked at her for a moment, echoes of the conversation he'd had with Rusty and Danny a night ago floating through his mind.

"Did you ever think…I mean, not now, obviously, but once…did you…?"

Sal looked at him for a long moment, translating and then broke into peals of laughter.

"It's not that funny," Basher frowned, hurt.

"Oh, Bash, it's not- it's – I know, I didn't mean- oh, Bash!" Sal bit her lip and was suddenly serious. "Basher Tarr, I love you more than anything and don't you bloody forget it. But us, together…we'd have murdered each other within a fortnight."

Basher looked at her and then felt his lips twitch upward into a smile. "Yeah," he conceded. "Actually, I'd have given us a week."

Sal grinned and that was alright, then.

* * *

The staff at the Crown who had overlooked any ripples Rusty might have made, turned an equally blind eye to Lady Cholmondley accompanying Mr Tarr up the stairs at a late or possibly early hour.

Seeing the look on Basher's face, Sal sighed and knocked on Rusty and Danny's door. It swung open to reveal a smiling Danny.

"Tell me," Sal instructed. "Everything."

* * *

It was later and they had drunk wine and exchanged stories. Sal had taken back the seed money and left the rest to be divided by three.

"Don't you want Norman's original investment as well?" Danny asked.

"No. I consider it money well spent," Sal said firmly and then beamed. "Thank you," she said and planted a kiss on both Rusty and Danny's cheeks. "Owe you. Couldn't have done it without you."

"It was our pleasure," Danny smiled.

"I'd never been to Ascot," Rusty said.

"Any time I can return the favour, you let me know." She looked at Basher. "And you - consider yourself thanked."

Basher grinned.

* * *

The following morning, Anthony Warrender woke to the unpalatable news that his office had been broken into. He was still reeling from the previous night's bewilderment at the Parthenon. Then, he switched on the news to find that all of his client details had somehow been sent electronically to Scotland Yard, raising doubts about the security of his systems.

His doorbell rang and he opened the door in a stupor to find two policemen on his doorstep.

"Is this about the IT systems, officer?" he began, "because I assure you I have no idea how that happened."

"Actually, Mr Warrender, it has come to our attention that some double accounting has been taking place at Warrender Associates."

Warrender's heart thumped wildly.

"Please could you accompany us to the station, Mr Warrender. We take a dim view of fraud and we'd like you to help us with our enquiries."

Warrender fainted.

* * *

Rusty and Danny sat in the first class lounge at Heathrow, waiting to board.

_So._

_So._

"You think we'll see her again?" Danny asked stirring his coffee.

Rusty buttered his crumpet and bit into it. "Hope so."

"Yeah."

The butter dripped down Rusty's chin and Danny watched as he caught it on his fingers and licked them one by one.

"Though next time, she's going to ask us whatever Basher says or does. You know that, right?"

"Mmph." Danny was still watching the precision with which Rusty was saving his shirt from a fate worse than death. Although to be honest, Danny thought the shirt's very existence meant it was already beyond saving.

"So next time, before she even can open her mouth-"

"You wouldn't dare," Danny interrupted, brought back to the conversation with a bump.

Rusty grinned.

And Danny sighed. Because Rusty would.


End file.
